


Friends Who Care

by lil_aussie_girl



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, caring!J2, sick!misha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 12:36:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9657746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_aussie_girl/pseuds/lil_aussie_girl
Summary: Based off a prompt given by ariadnes-string on the RPF Hurt/Comfort Meme here: http://spn-hurtcomfort.livejournal.com/222308.htmlPROMPT: It's his first winter filming up in Vancouver, and Misha gets sick. He's surprised by how protective and caring the Js are, especially since he doesn't know them very well yet.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Diving into some new waters here, folks: the SPN RPF ocean, stretching far and wide across the internet. Been a fan of the show for around 5 months now, and when I discovered this h/c meme, I found a few prompts that hadn't been filled that really stuck out to me. This was one of them.
> 
> As I said, first ever SPN RPF fic, so apologies if anyone seems a little OOC, still getting the feel for these characters. Let me know if there's anything I can improve on!
> 
> Okay, enough babbling, let's get on with it :) Enjoy!

It was inevitable, really. Working very long hours, eating sporadically at odd times, running on very little sleep, and filming outside in the cold Vancouver winter; he was bound to fall victim to one of the many circulating illnesses at some point.

And so, it was an exhausted, shivery, and mildly grumpy Misha that arrived at the studios at around 5am one January morning. 

“Rough night?” Jodie – the makeup artist – asked as he settled in the chair, frowning as she took in his pale features and glazed expression.

“You could say that” Misha replied, sore throat preventing him from speaking any louder than a quiet murmur. It was true: the stubborn fever that had been plaguing him since late yesterday had been fluctuating all night, making sleep pretty much impossible. A strong urge to rub at his neck overtook his senses, and he clenched his shaky hand into a weak fist in an effort to resist.

Jodie, thankfully, didn’t press the issue, and simply got on with applying his makeup. Grateful for the quiet, Misha let his throbbing head rest against the back of the chair, closing his eyes as Jodie worked her magic.

“Misha?” 

The quiet voice startled him back into reality with a shake of his shoulder. Blinking owlishly, he looked up at Jodie in mild confusion, then threw a glance down at the watch on his wrist, and his eyes widened painfully when he saw the time: 7:25am!

“Shit, I’m supposed to be on set in five minutes!” he croaked, getting up out of the chair.

And very nearly fell back down into it again.

Grabbing the edge of the bench to stabilise himself, Misha waited a few moments for the sudden dizziness to subside, before straightening and walking out of the trailer, giving Jodie a small wave as he left.

Jodie’s concerned gaze followed him until the trailer door closed, before turning back to her workspace with a sigh, and began clearing her equipment.

***  
Even though he’d left the makeup trailer in enough time to get to set, Misha was still almost late to the first set-up. Jared and Jensen – of course – were already there, leaning against a bench in a motel room set; Jared playing with a yoyo, Jensen going through his script. The crew milled around them, getting things set up for the first scene: walking through shots, setting up lights, putting the last props and set decorations into the room.

Jared must have heard him approaching; his head shot up, and a boyish grin threatened to split his face.

“Hey! Glad you finally decided to show up!” 

Misha had to resist the urge to groan. He could deal with Jared’s endless enthusiasm and boisterous personality on most days, but today the noise just made the thumping inside his head even worse. Still, he gave his two co-stars a small smile, and raised a hand in greeting.

Jensen looked up at that point, and his eyes narrowed slightly, looking him up and down. Misha unconsciously swallowed, deliberately not meeting his eyes. Thankfully, he was spared having to respond by Bob – their director for that episode – calling them to start the scene.

The morning’s filming went by far too slowly for Misha’s liking. As each minute passed, the throbbing in his head increased, his eyes feeling sore, dry, and scratchy. His throat – already feeling like it had blades jammed into it – was now on fire after barely an hour of using his Castiel voice. It was hurting so much that he resorted to not speaking at all between takes if he could help it.

He had also noticed that both Jensen and Jared had been throwing concerned looks his way all morning, when they thought he wasn’t looking. Although, he interpreted them as annoyed looks: he had been screwing up an unusually large number of takes because he kept spacing out at random times. When Bob called out a frustrated "CUT!", it was all Misha could do just duck his head and mumble an apology, determined to keep going.

It was nearly 1pm when Bob finally called for a break, walking up to him and putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, what's going on with you today? You're all over the place" the director commented, trying his best to hide his frustrations.

Misha gave an almost imperceptible flinch, feeling trickles of cold sweat running down his neck and back as his body tried to cool itself down.

At his silence, Bob sighed.

"Look, take a break for an hour or so, get yourself sorted out. I want you ready to work and focus when we come back, alright?"

It was said kindly, in an almost fatherly voice, but Misha still felt stung. He was letting the crew down, and he couldn't do that.

So he nodded, and turned away from Bob, heading towards the door to the studio.

He didn't notice Jared and Jensen sharing a look, as they walked over to Bob and began talking in hushed voices.

**Outside**  
Relieved at the opportunity for a break, Misha ducked away from the crowd heading towards the warmth of the catering tent, instead making a beeline for his trailer – and, more importantly, the warmth and comfort of his bed. 

The short walk from the studio to his designated trailer normally didn’t take more than a few minutes, but today it felt much longer, not helped by the fact that the dizziness and nausea threatened to knock him down where he stood.

A cold wind was blowing right towards his face when he finally made it to the door. Cold fingers fumbled in Castiel’s trench coat pockets for his keys, and breathing a shaky sigh of relief when he found them, put them in the lock, and opened the door.

Holy crap! The trailer was FREEZING!

Shivers becoming more violent, Misha realised belatedly that – while his vision had been blurry this morning – he must have set the temperature control to ‘cool’ instead of ‘hot’. Wrapping the trench coat even tighter around himself, he stumbled over to the machine, rubbing his eyes in an effort to try to make his vision clear enough to read the controls.

Finally getting his senses to cooperate, he found the control to set the temperature back to a more liveable climate. As he stood up, thoroughly exhausted, the spinning in his head reached an out of control level, and he started to make his way back to the bed, trying all the while not to either pass out or throw up.

Thankfully, Misha managed to make it to the bed without doing either, although removing his boots was much more arduous than it should have been, and as soon as they were both off, he fell back onto the pillows, completely exhausted.

Sleep – or unconsciousness, he couldn’t really tell which – claimed him swiftly after.

**About an hour later**  
Soft voices were floating around his head. Vaguely familiar voices that drifted in and out of earshot, making his head start to swim again. A moan escaped his lips before he could stop it.

“Misha?”

That voice was closer, and the bed beside him dipped as a weight settled onto it. A cold hand was pressing gently on his forehead, and Misha couldn’t help but lean into the touch, shivering as the chill took over his body.

“How you doing, buddy?” the voice asked, withdrawing their hand. Misha nearly whimpered at the loss of contact, his shivering becoming steadily more pronounced.

Suddenly, there were heavy footsteps around his other side, and the rustling of a bag. The noise made the pain in his head spike, and he turned and buried his head into the pillow.

“This ought to help” came a second voice, speaking in quiet murmurs.

The next thing he knew, a warm, soft thing was being thrown over him, and tucked around his shivering frame. A hand came up and rubbed his arm through the blanket, touch warm and comforting.

“Think you could wake up a bit more for us?” the second voice asked, hand stilling for a moment.

Honestly, Misha didn’t think that was a wise idea, but whatever. The sooner he obeyed, then the sooner he could go back to sleep.

To that end, he forced his eyes open, which took surprisingly more effort than one would think. The fuzzy outline of Jensen was the first thing his tired and sore eyes found. Another fuzzy figure stood a little way in the background; a few blinks later focused the image into one of Bob, who was leaning against the door, looking over at him with a worried expression.

The hand on his back left, and soon Jared came into his line of sight as well, settling down beside Jensen on the side Misha was facing.

“How’re you feeling?” Bob asked, pulling away from the door and walking over to the bed, fixing the three actors with a concerned, almost fatherly expression.

Misha opened his mouth to reply, but all that came out of his mouth was a pitiable squeak, one which made the fire in his throat burn hotter than a thousand suns. His dry eyes began to sting, he closed them tightly against the onslaught, another shiver wracking his frame.

“Pretty crap, I’m guessing?” Bob continued, correctly interpreting the silent plea. 

Another shiver.

“M cold” Misha mumbled, trying to curl into himself, the fluff of the blanket over his shoulders a warm invitation to his shaking body.

“I’m not surprised; your temperature’s up at around 103” Jensen replied, resting a hand back on his clammy forehead.

A pained groan escaped his chapped lips as Misha tried to roll onto his back, wanting to ease the aches beginning to build in his limbs.

“Medic reckons you’ve caught yourself a nasty flu” his co-star continued, “and he’s put you on strict rest until you get over it.”

Misha’s eyes flew open at that, and he struggled to sit up, leaning heavily on one shaky elbow.

“No!” he exclaimed painfully “I can keep going, honestly!” 

The other three men in the room all levelled him with equally sceptical looks, as his voice rather betrayed him in that moment.

“Dude, you can barely sit up, let alone do anything remotely physical” Jared remarked, putting a large hand on his shoulder to help steady him.

Misha tried to fix him with a glare of his own, but was interrupted by an overwhelming tickle in the back of his throat; one which – very quickly – transformed into a spectacular coughing fit.

Bent double with the force of it, he missed Jared and Jensen exchanging concerned looks over his head. Bob turned and headed toward the door once more, telling the three of them that they all had the rest of the afternoon off, and reiterated the medic’s earlier orders. All of this went unnoticed by Misha, who now sat panting heavily, trying to catch his breath back.

His two co-stars helped him lay back on the bed, before Jensen stood and went over to the tiny kitchenette, filling a glass of water.

Feeling more than a little embarrassed, he accepted the glass and sipped the refreshingly cool liquid as fast as his throat would allow. 

“You two should go: don’t want you getting sick” he croaked out, handing the glass back to Jensen, who set it down on the counter.

“And what kind of friends would we be if we left you alone when you feel this crap?” Jared asked, tilting his head to the side, fixing him with a curious look.

Misha lifted his head at that, frowning slightly.

“Friends?” he whispered, as if disbelieving what he had heard.

Both Jared and Jensen looked at him as if he was mad.

“Well, yeah. I think you’re our friend” Jared clarified, shrugging as if it was obvious.

“You’re part of the family now, Misha: of course you’re our friend” Jensen added, sitting back down on the bed and resting a hand on the folds of the blanket.

Misha was stunned into silence. Sure, he’d hoped to become friends with these two amazing, crazy, funny, incredible people, but part of him tried to stay realistic. He had heard rumours about TV show casts and how they never really took a shine to many newcomers, and had thought that – for sure – that it would be the case here. Here he was, coming into a show that – while successful in the eyes of its fans – surely wasn’t safe from that rule. He had heard what the two had said about him during his first few days on the set, and it seemed that the rumours were true, and that neither Jared nor Jensen wanted anything to do with him.

He had never been so delighted to be wrong in his life.

Turning his head away, Misha curled back onto his side, eyes beginning to droop.

A quiet chuckle came from above his head, as a mercifully cool cloth was laid across his sweaty neck.

“Go to sleep Mish, we’re not going anywhere.”

The only sounds after that were quiet, snuffling snores as Misha was only too happy to comply.

**THE END**


End file.
